


The Best Bad Decisions

by andacus



Series: My Very Own Cliche Bingo [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cliche, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Sex Pollen, Sorry Not Sorry, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andacus/pseuds/andacus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, all things considered, taking a dose of sex pollen to the face wasn't the worst way to die.  Or spend an afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Bad Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> So... offering number two of my little cliche challenge. There was just no way to do sex pollen without just making with the porn. I hope it turned out okay. It's surprisingly difficult to write. Anyway, hope you all like it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Darcy says, ripping at the buttons on her jacket, her fingers shaking with adrenaline, anticipation, and something that must be a side effect of the… she can’t even think it. 

“Nope,” Bucky answers, voice even.

“This is stupid.” That's what she gets for losing her fool mind and jumping in front of people thinking she can save them. Why the hell did she do that? She should just be called Bad Decision Darcy from here on out.

She’s nearly got her jacket off; it’s a frantic sort of wrestling match, as her fine motor skills seem to be affected and things like clasps or buttons might as well be magical Gringott’s locks. Finally, she pulls her arms free from the sleeves and her jacket tumbles to the floor. She starts on her bouse. Stupid business casual attire.

“What are you doing?” Bucky is looking at her blandly, but his eyes are slightly wider than normal and his fists are clenched.

“I’m so warm… And clothed. I need less of these clothes.”

Without speaking, he picks up her jacket, grabs her by the arm and ushers her swiftly from the lobby, which is where they had taken refuge after the whole face full of sex powder thing. 

“Where’re we going?” She tries to pull away, but his grip is too strong.

“Are you trying to be naked in the lobby? Because it seems like a bad idea, but whatever blows your dress up, I guess.”

She hadn’t actually thought about that. There wasn’t a whole lot of room in her brain for critical thinking skills when all she could think about was how her veins felt like lava and her skin was so sensitive that her clothes felt like gravel. And sex. Her brain was definitely thinking of sex. 

She stops suddenly, just as they reach the elevator, turns to him, runs her palms across his hips, letting them drift around to his ass and up to his back. God, he feels nice, all hard lines and familiar angles.

“Not here,” he says, sharply, pulling her hands away from him and punching the button for his floor. “Too many eyes.”

“Oh, right,” Darcy says, swaying a little. “It’s a secret.”

He levels her with a glare. “Would you like tell everyone now? Like this?”

She shakes her head, tugs her blouse off, and starts on her slacks.

“Darling,” he says, placing his hands over hers to stop them. “One more minute and you can take all of this off. Promise.”

But his hands are warm (okay, one of them is) around hers and they’re right near her center, where there is a throbbing and a tingling and all she can do is push her hips forward, rubbing against his hands.

His face is impassive, but he pushes back against her, hands low against her belly. She moans and wishes he would kiss her.

The elevator doors open and Darcy is the first one off, marching purposefully down the hall and into his room, a room she’s been in many times, though no one aside from the two of them know that. She’s naked by the time he catches up, her clothes littering the path across the small living room and into the bedroom. 

She didn’t wait for him, the thrumming under her skin and the need were just too much and she knows she must look ridiculous, writhing atop his bed, fingers between her thighs. But she honestly doesn’t care; all she cares about is the need and the tension that is building, making her want to come and scream.

The bed dips a moment later and she feels him beside her, his hands splay across her hips, gripping, but not stopping her movements. He makes no move to interfere with her fingers either and she’s grateful because as much as she wants him right now (or anyone, really, but him especially), she is sososoclose and _oh god_. Her release crashes over her, wave after wave of pleasure like she’s never felt before. 

“I think I died,” Darcy says, a moment later, once her vision has cleared and her body has stopped shivering.

He chuckles. “Still alive, as far as I can tell,” he says, kissing her neck. He’s naked, she realizes now, and hard as… hard things. Okay, so her brain is not functioning, sue her. 

“Not such a bad way to die.”

“I’ve got bad news and good news,” Bucky says. “Which one first?”

“Bad news.”

“The effects haven’t worn off. I’ve seen this before. You’ll be feeling like this for at least a few more hours.”

“And the good news?”

He rolls over and hovers above her, one leg slips between hers and gently grinds upward against her mons. “I am more than happy to help you out. You know, like a gentleman does.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Typical man.”

His lips drop to hers and she moans into his mouth, reveling in the familiar feeling of his body against hers. He slides a tongue across hers and she tugs at his bottom lip, laughing when he takes his turn to moan.

She rocks her hips upward, drags her nails across his shoulders. He’s right there, hard at her entrance and normally, he would be driving himself into her, fucking her with abandon, which has worked out very well for both of them in the past, but this time he’s waiting, lavishing her skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses and letting his left hand slide up her hip, the cool metal and smooth surface making her shiver.

And it’s so good. There is a tingling in her blood that she knows is from the pollen, but it make everything so much more intense. His skin feels like silk and his mouth on her is indescribable. And behind all of that is this slowly building coil, twisting and tightening and she needs to release it. _Needs_ to.

She drives her hip upward, widening her legs, letting him settle fully there, right where she likes him. He rocks against her, meeting her midway, his erection hard against her thigh, not right where she likes him.

“God, please, Bucky. I’ve been poisoned, take pity on a poor poisoned woman.”

He scoffs, but a moment later, he's driving into her, hard and deep. She gasps, clings tighter to him, wraps a hand around one metallic bicep and thanks the gods that she decided against all smart judgement and let this man into her bed. It might be the best worst decision she ever made.

He fucks like he does most things, intensely and with unwavering purpose. His hips piston against hers, pushing her release closer and closer, driving the air out of her lungs and the whimpers out of her throat. And just as his thrusts are becoming erratic, as his breath is falling short, she comes hard, a clenching, gasping writhing mess, lights erupt behind her eyelids and her body feels like it’s sparking and flaming. He jerk against her a few more times, growls something she can’t make out, and then he too is a twisting mess.

“Can we get some of this stuff just for, you know, a Friday night in?” Darcy says a moment later and laughs when he shrugs his limp shoulders and refuses to roll off of her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” JARVIS says a few moments later, when Darcy’s freed herself and has begun kissing a path down his abdomen. “I have a message for you. Shall I play it?”

“Uh… sure,” Darcy says, not bothering to stop her minstrations.

Tony Stark’s voice fills the room. “JARVIS, you tell her that when she’s done screwing the balls off the brainwashed ninety year old assassin, we need her in the lab for tests.”

“Oops.” Darcy says.

“Oops,” Bucky agrees.

They don’t make it to the lab for another five hours, but neither of them can be bothered to care that much. Or at all.


End file.
